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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581042">This is the last time I'll abandon you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Five Nights at Freddy's</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Porn, Canonical Character Death, Creep William Afton | Dave Miller, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Necrophilia, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, cause hes dead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:26:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One last goodbye. That was all William had wanted to give. Not this. No, definitely not this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>William Afton | Dave Miller &amp; Henry Emily, William Afton | Dave Miller/Henry Emily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This is the last time I'll abandon you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One last goodbye. That was all William had come to give. But, he didn't expect to see this. No, he certainly didn't expect to see this.</p><p>The body lying flat on the ground, a pool of blood circling where the wound had punctured the gentle chest. The once clean flannel had become soaked in blood. The blood of a man he would have once called a friend, or even more, at one point. The expression on the mans face remained in his mind, burning his retinas. Those once bright eyes were clouded over, glossy with the lingering sense of death, skin almost looking frostbitten with how pale he had become.</p><p>"Henry," William tried as if that would bring him back, "why did you do this to yourself?" He crouched down to get a closer look at the man, hands absentmindedly wandering to his ice-cold face. "How selfish had you become?" He felt just as William remembered, coarse and rough, with that lingering softness that had been long dried out and frozen with death. How long he had been like this, however, was a mystery.</p><p>The blood seemed fresh, he knew that much, and Henry's eyes weren't even shut. Was it peaceful, was it immediate, his death? That, he did not know. And the fact that he didn't know, irked him. He had known everything about Henry up until his death, and now, he doesn't even know the essential components of his announced death. What a joke.</p><p>As his calloused fingertips ran along Henry's jaw, a thought crawled into his mind: what if he just... took him? It was something that he had always lusted after, something he had always dreamed of. The thought of taking him always did carry shivers of arousal up his spine, although he had never gotten the opportunity to do it. The thought of even taking advantage of him was arousing. And now, now that the man is deceased, he doesn't have to worry about being rejected or fought against. His thumb pressed the others cold lip, pressing his nail against the tissue and threatening to pull it down. To his surprise, it was soft and moved easily. That confirmed his suspicions; Henry hadn't even been dead for three hours before William had got here.</p><p>A strange sensation piled up in his gut, swirling around and pressing against the lower points in his abdomen. Did Henry think of him in his last moments, he wonders? Did the thought of him ever cross his mind? It was arousing to think about. One hand trailed down from Henry's lips to his messy flannel. It was now or never. Gentle fingers tore the buttons from their sockets, leaving the brunettes nearly emaciated body to shine in its wake. That was so cute, Henry had been starving himself, <em>neglecting himself</em>, hadn't he? So overwhelmed with the thought of Charlotte, of bringing her back, he had forgotten to take care of himself.</p><p>While running his hands along his chest, William wondered what it would've felt like if Henry was alive. Would he push him away, or would he accept him with open arms, too desperate for affection to even think of who was giving it to him? That would've been so cute. Pure gold laced with honey, feeding into the obsession he had with the man. If only he was still breathing, this would be even better. But, William can live with this, he supposes, its better than nothing.</p><p>"I've always wanted to do this, Henry," it was inane to speak as if the other could hear, but he beckoned to do so nevertheless. "Such a shame that you can't feel it. I know you would've loved this, baby." Of course, he would've. Henry always adored his actions, adequate or dangerous. Such a sweet, pliant boy.</p><p>William felt himself shift himself over to hover above Henry's lap, hands working their way down to the dead man's belt buckle. This was perfect, too perfect. No disruption, no wailing, nothing to get in the way of what he wanted. Of what <em>Henry</em> would've wanted. Before his trousers were removed, William studied his body, taking in the details that he had yearned to see for so, so long.  His perfect body. Crafted so beautifully, each curve being perfected by the next. If only Henry had known how perfect he was before death, how much William worshipped him, obsessed over him.</p><p>His own hands began to fiddle with his belt, readying to tug it loose and let his trousers fall past his thighs. He peeked at Henry through his lashes and picked up the dead man's legs by the back of his knees, hoisting him up so that he wouldn't completely fall backwards, although his body was limp. Preparation was no issue, especially with him being dead. Such a clever man, now defiled into decaying corpse, ready to be fucked by his once-best friend.</p><p>One last goodbye. That was all William had wanted to give. Not this. No, surely not this. He did not expect this.</p><p>But this is what he was given, and he will milk this situation for all it was worth.</p><p>A hiss escaped his lips as he forced himself in, shudders running along his body. The inside of him was still warm, if not much, but warm nonetheless. Perfect for him. The way that his dead body accepted him, virtually pulling him in, it seemed. A pleased noise rolled from the tip of his tongue, a mix between a moan and Henry's name. If only he could hear him, if only he could tell him that he wanted it as much as he did.</p><p>A sudden moan erupted from his throat as he trusted forward, intertwined with a hiss. "God", he breathed, "oh, Henry, if only you were alive. You feel so good, darling," he planted one of his hands right next to the dead man's head before proceeding to force himself in and out of him, his shallow breaths beginning to labour. "It's like you're made for me, it's perfect." The praise fell from his lips conspicuously, "I wish you knew how much I worship you, Henry. How much I obsessed over you, everything about you. Your creations — everything. You were incredible," his hips shuddered, "ss...soooo incredible, b—baa...baby." He drawled on, words eventually becoming nothing more than a jumbled mess of syllables that even he couldn't understand.</p><p>Henry's cold thighs brushed up against his hip, sending shivers down his spine. Fuck, that was hot. There was nothing he could do but take it, take it like he was meant to do when he was alive, because he <em>always </em>belonged to him, even if he never agreed to it nor acknowledged the fact, but it didn't matter either way. William pressed his forehead against the others, relishing in the coldness that cooled his body. Suddenly, he pressed their lips together, shivering at the icy feeling. Something about this was so hot, so wrong, but it felt so, so good. It wasn't supposed to feel so good. But he allowed it to.</p><p>His noises were silenced by Henry's cold lips, and thankfully so, because he felt himself drawing closer to his breaking point. His knees were buckling, muscles spasming and toes curling. Would Henry feel this good if he was still alive? That didn't matter at the moment, he concluded, all he could focus on was <em>Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry, you feel so good, Henry, fuck, baby...</em></p><p>Without warning, his orgasm suddenly wracked his body, leaving him to moan inside of the dead man's mouth. His hips shuddered, locking against Henry's as he came. God, it felt so good. It left him nearly gasping for air against Henry's lips, left him seeing stars in the back of his head. He loved it. But who said that he could stop now, it's not like Henry would get tired or refuse him of his desires. He could do this for as long as he wanted to.</p><p>William pulled away, suddenly, wiping the spit that doused Henry's lips. "Even in death, you're still the most attractive man I've ever laid my eyes on, darling," the aforementioned hand that laid next to Henry's head slowly slid down, circling the wound that had caused his demise. So much blood was caked around the wound, new and fresh, and something inside of William just wanted to snap it open and leave him even more than a bloodied mess. "You did so much damage to yourself, how selfish." His index finger ran alongside the flaps of skin that were torn, still partially wet with blood. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought. Oh, if only he was the one who took his life away. To watch the life drain from his eyes, for his body to go limp in his arms. Because, even in his last moments, he would've belonged to him. Just as he was supposed to.</p><p>The British man adjusted his hips, rolling and snapping them forwards similarly to the way he did a mere couple of minutes ago. So perfect, and all his. Every last part of his body belonged to him. From his bleeding wounds to his decaying body. He would undoubtedly be his until the end of time, not even death would tear them apart. No, William wouldn't allow it. With a jolt of pleasure running up his spine at each rough thrust, William knew that this was meant to happen; that Henry had always meant to be his, to belong to him.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>! Fuck, shit—" his hips shuddered, a particularly loud moan escaping him despite his efforts to stop it. He chose to ignore the way that his fingers dug into Henry's cold skin, but, fuck, he couldn't help it. "Feel so good, Henry, fuck—" his fingers slowly slipped inside of the wound, fingers twitching and snapping concurrently. Much to his surprise, blood began to coat his fingers, cold and unforgiving; an angry reminder that the man is dead. William knows he should care, he really, truly does, but he can't make himself feel bad, nor does he <em>want </em>to. Cause this felt much too good, it was like heaven on earth.</p><p>Henry can't fight against him, can't tell him how much he hates it, how much he hates William. All he can do is lay there and take it, completely silent and wanting it just as much as the British man does. A perfect situation, because, as he aforementioned, Henry belongs to him. William glanced at his clouded eyes, sick satisfaction rising in his chest and pressing against his heart. He could just imagine the expression that he would allow if he was alive, and it would be so beautiful, so perfect, like honey laced with gold. Yes, feeding into his desires, much like before. He would be so stubborn, so feisty, and as much as William hates to admit it, that would be something that he would've tried out.</p><p>"If," he inhaled sharply, stumbling over his words, "if only, baby..." Was he sick in the head, to do something like this? Yes, clearly, this was a disgusting achievement that he should shun out and reject, but, fuck, he can't help it. It's <em>Henry. </em>How could he not do this? "fff—fuuck... I'm gonna, again—" Whatever, that didn't matter. All that mattered was the hot feeling in his gut. He was so close, again, so close to coming inside of him. Who cares what would happen?</p><p>William hunched over his corpse and snapped his hips forwards, once, twice, thrice. Nothing would ever feel as good as this. Not the deaths of those brats, nothing. Nothing could ever amount to the feeling of being inside of him, painted with his blood like a Victorian painting. So gorgeous. If he could, William would've taken a picture of the sight before him and kept it close to his heart. <em>Take a picture, it'll last longe</em>r, As they say. And, oh, boy, did he <em>not </em>want this to end.</p><p>A moment's passed, and abruptly, William threw his head back with a loud string of moans, intertwined with praises for Henry, as well of his name, before he came once again. His head pounded almost painfully, hairs standing on end as he comes down from his high. It was only then, that he realised the gravity of his actions.</p><p>Henry.</p><p>Poor, beautiful Henry.</p><p>Nothing more than a corpse. Used by the one whom he once trusted the most. What a joke, a sickeningly ironic situation. He would be disgusted if he had known. But William doesn't care. Because Henry will belong to him, forever. Even when death tears them apart, nothing can stop William from pulling him back.</p><p>Nevertheless, William had pulled out of Henry and averted his gaze, pulling up his trousers and buckling them back up. He wiped off the blood on his pant leg, further smearing the substance and caking it underneath his fingernails and wrinkles in his palm, fingers. He looked at the corpse for a couple of moments before sighing softly to himself. As much as he hates to do it, he had to put Henry's clothes back on. And he did, begrudgingly.</p><p>With one last look at the body, he turned away and began to leave the mans life just as he had intended to do before he saw what was left of the once vibrant male. The man he once cherished, written about obsessively to the point of worship. It was truly selfish of him to take the easy way out of life. Suicide — that's what William thought, anyway. Henry was better than that. He was <em>always </em>better than that. So, it was so infuriating to know of what he did.</p><p>But, it's in the past, now. It doesn't matter.</p><p>Tomorrow is another day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some things deserve to exist, this was not one of them.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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